Belonging.
In the burnt umber of autumn orange skies,
We search for meaning,
For hope,
For a sense of belonging we can nest into.
And maybe a lifetime has already passed,
Craving such a place that envelopes you with utter acceptance and grace.
No expectations you have to meet,
No judgments you have to face.
We stick our necks out,
We touch the stove.
We risk our hearts and put it all on the line for a chance to belong for any amount of time.
Trying to say the right thing,
Look the right way,
Be easy to love,
Be less to be enough,
But still loud enough to be noticed.
It's a hard game to play.
Especially when you realize that belonging doesn't ask that of you.
People do,
But not true belonging because it doesn't live in other people's approval.
It lives in the accountability for who you are.
Showing up authentically with space to wisen.
Showing up wholeheartedly with compassion to spare.
It lives in the quiet moments of reflection,
When you finally exhale,
Stop performing and just stare.
Giving yourself a speech that pulls you inwards and roots the bottoms of your feet.
Not chasing anyone,
Not leaving yourself behind.
You are someone to meet.
Belonging comes when you stand still long enough to feel the hum beneath your own skin.
When the noise fades and what's left is honest.
It's in the breath that steadies you after the storm or maybe sometimes you are the storm.
Bathing yourself in the tears streaming down your face and then finally basking in the small laughter that escapes when you realize you made it through.
You are your hardest days.
You are your brave ones too.
You are the shadows that you face.
You are all the love that lives in you.
Belonging isn't something you find.
It's something you tend to.
A slow return,
A soft remembering,
A promise to stay true to yourself even when the world asks you not to.
Belonging lives in you.
You already belong here.
You already do.
